Page 59 of Down in Flames

Two weeks, and not a word between them. He had nobody to blame but himself, not just for pushing Michael too far, but for breaking his phone. Sweetwater didn’t have a local carrier, and it had taken nearly a week to replace it. By that point, even if he’d wanted to reach out, he didn’t know what to say. So, they said nothing.

“You’re cut off after this one,” Pete announced, sliding a fresh glass of whiskey and coke across the bar.

West stopped it with his elbow, watching numbly as liquid sloshed over the rim.

“I’m not driving,” he protested blearily. “The whole town is walking distance from my shit apartment.”

Pete shrugged. “Not my call. Sheriff’s orders.”

West belted back a hard swallow, barely wincing at the burn, and summoned up whatever scraps of dignity he had left to announce with feeling, “The sheriff…can stick it up his ass.”

“That comes later,” drawled an amused voice at his back.

West tried to swivel on his stool, but it was the room that spun. His head bobbled on his shoulders, so he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the bar. Someone got a fistful of his hair and cranked his head at such an awkward angle that it partially woke him up. Blinking, he struggled to focus on Calvin Craig’s blurry face. An off-duty Eli relaxed at a table behind him.

“Aw, shit,” West muttered.

“Is that any way to greet me?” The creases at the corners of Cal’s eyes deepened when he grinned. “You’re supposed to be the nice guy around here.”

“Go away,” West muttered, yanking free and leaving a few strands of hair behind.

“How about a coffee, Pete?” Cal suggested, sliding onto the empty stool next to him and hooking one boot heel on the rung. His body language was relaxed and perfectly at ease, but then, Cal had always been comfortable in his own skin. Settling down had been good for him, breaking that chip off his shoulder one piece at a time and revealing the big-hearted man underneath. West considered him a friend. Maybe even a good friend. But right then, all he wanted was to be left alone to wallow.

“Calvin Craig,” he muttered, propping his head in one hand and giving him the hairy eyeball. “You know how many times I’ve wished I was you?”

“That’s fucking grim,” Cal said with a low laugh.

West finished off his drink and grimaced. “You never cared what anyone thought. Just told this town to get fucked, and they loved you for it. You made it all the way to the world championships with nothing tying you down. No one telling you what to do.”

Cal’s expression was remote. “That’s what you think, huh?”

“Yup.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “You’re so full of shit. You know what I would’ve given to have a family like yours growing up? You’re seriously going to sit here and complain because people care about you too fucking much? No one cared whether I lived or died. Everything I did was despite that, not because of it.”

The worst of it was that West knew he was right. His flushed face heated up until it felt like he was roasting, and shame sweat trickled down his collar.

“So, I should just shut up and be grateful, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.” Cal’s eyes grew shrewd. “Look, I don’t know all the details—”

“Then maybe you should mind your own damn business.”

“—but I consider you a friend, and I don’t say that lightly.” His tone had an edge of warning, and he nudged over the coffee Pete handed him. “So, I’m telling you, as a friend, to drink that coffee and go home.”

West looked down at the steaming mug and began to laugh. It was hilarious. He couldn’t drink it even if he wanted. He’d promised his mother to take it easy on caffeine for a while.

Cal whistled through his teeth, long and low, like a dropping bomb. “Shoot, son. I thought Whit was handling this bad, but he ain’t got a thing on you.”

West’s head came up like a shot. “He is?” he asked hopefully.

Cal raised one eyebrow. “What do you think? I ain’t ever seen that man do a single thing that wasn’t for someone else’s benefit. ‘Til you. That was the first time I ever saw him do something just because he wanted it, and to hell with everyone else. It was kind of nice seeing those smiles.”

“Yeah, he’s great at taking care of people whether they like it or not,” West muttered, still smarting from the humiliating end to their phone call. “He flipped his shit when he found out I was busting broncs. Followed me all the way to California and decided to let me suck his dick so long as I go along with everything he says.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I’m too stupid to know what’s good for me.”